Your Eyes Betray Your Words
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Leila Sawyer was just one of many who awaited the justice of the mob, and she was determined that she wouldn't plead for her life, she would never be made to beg, no matter what they did to her, but how long would her determination last when she was brought before Bane?
1. Part One, First Half

Your Eyes Betray Your Words

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Leila Sawyer was just one of many who awaited the _justice_ of the mob, and she was determined that she wouldn't plead for her life, she would never be made to beg, no matter what they did to her, but how long would her determination last when she was brought before Bane? She had cheated death, for the time being, but would the fate that awaited her prove to be worse than death, or would it a moment that showed her what it meant to truly be alive?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize in this work of fanfiction. The only thing that belongs to me is my OC, Leila Sawyer, and any others that she brings with her from my imagination.

Author's Note: It feels a little odd to be writing about Bane and this new woman, Leila, when I'm so accustomed to exploring his life with another of my OC's, Malayna, but this moment with Leila will not leave me alone. The Bane in this story is completely different from the Bane in my other stories, though I will still make him more of a sympathetic character, and not a mindless thug, because Christopher Nolan didn't write him that way, Tom Hardy didn't portray him that way and I just can't see him that way.

Just So You Know: This story will be told in three parts, comprised of six chapters, and it is rated **M** for violence, mild to moderate cursing and a variety of citrus goodness, both limes and lemons.

~Part One, First Half~

Leila's POV

There was a madman sitting on the bench, dispersing _justice_ to those who were deemed to be guilty by the masses, simply because they had the temerity to have obtained wealth at some point in their lives. Some were judged because of their own prosperity, while others found themselves standing before a convicted criminal to hear their sentence because of their association with one who was rich and powerful, that is, someone who _had_ been, before everything went to hell, and that was where I came into the picture.

I hadn't been born into wealth and privilege, I'd married into that lifestyle, but my late husband hadn't come into this world with a silver spoon in his mouth either. Andrew Sawyer had been a self-made man, he'd built his business from the ground up, with his own two hands, and he'd been the single most generous man that I had ever known in my life, but none of that would matter to these cretins. They saw only what they wanted to see, and for some of them, this _uprising_ had been an answer to their prayers, or, that is, it would have been, had any of them ever had the inclination to bow their heads and take a knee.

"You are Leila Sawyer, yes?" the man who was presiding over the circus asked, even though he already knew exactly who I was. I suppose that he did so for the theatrical effect, but I wasn't all that fond of being asked questions whose answers were already known, and that was why I opted to stay silent, and defiantly meet the eyes of the one who wished to pass sentence on me, rather than affirming what he, and everyone else who filled the main trading floor of what had formerly been Wayne Enterprises, already knew to be true.

"It would seem that we have a hostile defendant, ladies and gentleman," Dr. Crane said, smiling at me in a way that illuminated his eyes with malevolent glee, and sent a shiver of fear coursing along my spine. "Come now, your time for being disobedient has passed, the judgment of the people is inevitable, and your fate has been sealed, but don't you want a chance to speak for yourself, to choose the way in which you will leave this world? Those who answer get their choice, if I agree with them, but those who choose defiance don't get to offer a suggestion. Now then, I'll ask you again, are you Leila Sawyer?"

It took a great deal of effort, on my part, to hold his gaze, because there was something almost, well, _reptilian_, in his eyes, but I forced myself to do so out of spite, because I knew that he expected me to flinch, and look away. "Could you explain to me, and everyone else, how you justify describing me as a 'hostile defendant', when I haven't been offered representation, and there isn't a jury of my peers or a prosecutor in sight?" I asked clearly and loudly, forcing back my trepidation and speaking in a strong tone, which pleased me, because it belied the mounting dread that I felt in my heart. "I refuse to answer your query of who I am, because you already know my name, _Mr._ Crane, and I'm not about to amuse you by pleading my 'choice' where my _punishment_ for my supposed crimes is concerned. You will simply have to overlook my _disobedience_ and pass your 'inevitable judgment', because if my 'fate' has already been 'sealed', what purpose can there be in pretending that I have a 'choice' in any part of this insanity?"

The masses were not pleased with my response, and I glanced away from the _judge_, so that I might look at those who were baying for my blood. The faces, which were a mixture of leering and outrage, all melded into one hostile visage, joined by one ringing voice…save for one. There was one who was watching me from the upper gallery, a masked face, who conveyed calmness in the midst of the chaos, and it unsettled me, to know that all of his concentration was centered on me, when I had heard, through the whispers of the throng, that he seemed to be disinterested, and almost bored, with the proceedings.

"I don't really have the time for these little games, but I'll play anyway, just for a moment," Crane said, raising his hand, to quiet the mob. "You are Leila Sawyer, wife of the late Andrew Sawyer, who lived a life of prosperity and benefit that was earned by the blood, the sweat and the tears of those who were far less fortunate. He escaped the judgment of the good people of Gotham by dying earlier this year, but you, Mrs. Sawyer, will not evade your guilt, which you have shown, both by association, and by your own lavish lifestyle. Now then, are you ready to receive your sentence?"

I don't know where I found the nerve to laugh at him, the threatening air of the crowd, and the fact that my death was undoubtedly imminent, ought to have chased all of my humor from me, so completely that there was no way that it could ever return, but I giggled none the less. This whole situation was ludicrous, it was a travesty, and as such, I had to laugh. It was either give in to a giggle, or dissolve in tears, and there was no way that they'd make me cry, not ever, no matter what.

"You'll pardon me for laughing, _Mr_. Crane, but surely you can't expect me to take this seriously," I said, risking one last snicker, which died a swift and painful death a moment after I let it loose, when I glanced at the upper gallery and found that Bane was still watching me. "My husband didn't always enjoy a life of 'prosperity' and 'benefit', he struggled, for many years, to obtain what he had, and when he did achieve success, it was through hard work and self-discipline, _not_ by the blood, sweat and tears of those who were less fortunate than he was. I don't know when capitalism became a sin, I missed the dawning of the moment when individual prosperity became a hate crime perpetrated on those who are 'less fortunate', but what do you think built this nation, hmm?"

"You are simply digging a deeper grave for yourself with every word that you speak….."

"Then let me continue, so that it will be a bottomless chasm for you to toss me in, because I'm not even _close_ to being done with any of you," I interrupted, defiantly stepping forward, to face him more directly, only to be stopped at the last moment by a pair of muscle-bound thugs who must have thought that I meant to physically attack Crane. I had to admit that it _was_ tempting to me, the image of launching myself at him and battering his pretty face until it was black and blue and oozing blood, but I was content to stand back and use my mouth as a weapon instead, before they silenced me for good.

"You claim that your motives are to punish those who have prospered by the sweat of _your_ brow, but have you ever considered the fact that you might be able to succeed as well, and make something of yourself that doesn't involve a life of constantly playing the victim, if you were to abandon your sense of entitlement? My husband worked for what he had, he didn't inherit it, and he was very generous with his wealth, as you would know, if you bothered to ask anyone who worked for him, or those who knew him….."

"This is a sentencing hearing, Mrs. Sawyer, not one meant to determine your husband's guilt, or your own, for that matter, because that has already been decided. I'm sure that you would _love_ to sermonize for hours, possibly even days, but I'm afraid that there is too much that needs to be done, there are others who are awaiting their just rewards, and as such, I'm afraid that we really need to get on with the business at hand."

I imagined that he would have hours, possibly even days to spare for _sermonizing_ if _he_ was the one who was proselytizing, but I would just be wasting my breath if I pointed that out to him, or to any of the others in the room, so I kept the observation to myself. I knew that there were others waiting behind me, pacing the floor and gnawing their fingernails to shreds, while they waited for their moment to arrive, and, in some ways, my speech might have prolonged their suffering, rather than their lives, but there had been things that I needed to say, for my own peace of mind, and I wasn't going to apologize to anyone for stating my opinion, of them, of the lack of character and principle, and of the farce that so many had accepted as their new reality.

"You have been very disruptive, Mrs. Sawyer, and as such you should be punished by having your decision taken away from you, but I am in a generous mood, and I will allow you to make the choice for yourself. So, please don't hold me, or any of the others, in suspense any longer. Which would you prefer, exile or death?"

My knees tried to buckle, my stomach roiled, and I wanted to cry, but I forced myself to laugh instead. "Why do you even bother to pretend that one choice is any different than the other, when everyone knows that they're the same damned thing?" I asked, knowing that I wouldn't receive a response, but I had to ask the question anyway. "Well, okay, since it's my decision, I suppose that I'll have to choose death, but I want it to take place right here, and right now, because there is no _way_ that I am going to take a stroll across that ice."

I wouldn't have thought that silence could be so deafening, but the mob, who'd been braying for my blood, chanting "_death_" over and over again, until I'd been sure that my ears would hemorrhage, weren't uttering a peep. The entire room had grown hushed, there wasn't even a murmur to be heard, and everyone was staring at Crane, to see what his response to my ridiculous request would be…everyone, save for the lone figure in the upper gallery, that is.

My eyes met his, and held, until I shivered and looked away from him. I could still feel his gaze on me, even after I'd turned away, and I wondered what it was that he found so fascinating about me. Maybe he was amused by my tactics, or maybe he was simply waiting for me to break, but, for whatever reason, he insisted on staring at me, and I responded in a way that maddened me, even as it thrilled me.

Crane was more guarded with his reaction than the masses, but it was clear that he was more angry than shocked. "You do not get to choose the means of death, Mrs. Sawyer," he said, striving for a tone that was bored, but I could see the way that his eyes were flashing, and I knew that I'd pissed him off. "You may be accustomed to ordering people about, and getting your way all of the time, but _I_ am the one who is in charge in this courtroom, and I say that you are to be….."

"Bring her to me," a voice called out, carrying easily through the room, even though he hadn't spoken loudly. A group of the mercenary's men moved toward me, intent to do Bane's bidding and all eyes, including mine, went to the hulking figure in the upper gallery, as a furious murmur traveled through the _courtroom_, until Crane stood and hammered his gavel on the bench to recapture everyone's attention.

"You'll excuse me, Bane, but I was led to believe that you have no authority here. The impression that I was given was that _I_ was the one who'd been granted the power to impose sentence, and this disruption of yours is an imposition to me, one which undermines….."

Bane's men, led by one with striking blue eyes, reached me, and the man in the lead took hold of my arm, more gently than I would have imagined he would, and started to pull me away. Crane continued to pound his gavel, harder and harder, as his face grew crimson with his temper, and he made for quite an arresting sight, one that might have made me laugh, had my situation not been as dire as it was at that moment.

"Release her at once!" Crane yelled, and all traces of his lazy and bemused composure vanished in an instant as he gave himself wholeheartedly to the lure of a temper tantrum. "She was brought to the people for judgment, Bane, and _I _am the one who will decide her fate…you have _no_ authority in this courtroom….!"

The imposing mercenary had turned to leave, once his men had taken hold of me, but he paused as Crane continued to rant, then slowly turned to look at him. I searched for any sign of anger in Bane, but he remained completely calm, and seemed almost, well, impassive, if the truth were to be told. He looked at me first, and then at the man who was still holding my arm, before he turned his attention to Crane, who deflated somewhat as the masked man leveled his gaze on him.

"You do not sound like a man who is in charge, Dr. Crane," he said, his voice touched with a hint of derision that obviously piqued the temper of the _judge_ even further, but he took his seat and kept his mouth shut just the same. "You sound like a petulant child who has had his favorite toy snatched away. Mrs. Sawyer will not be subjected to the judgment of the people, nor will you be permitted to pass sentence on her. I will speak with her, and determine her culpability myself, and then _I_ will decide what is to be done with her. I trust that you do not object to my decision…do you, Dr. Crane?"

His tone would have made anyone with a scintilla of intelligence agree with him, and while Crane was deficient in many things, he certainly wasn't dim-witted, and he shook his head, and didn't say another word. I watched him take a deep breath, one which was, more likely than not, born from relief when Bane turned and continued on his way, and then he, and the crowd, faded from sight as I was hustled past those waiting for their judgment, then outside, to a large, militaristic vehicle, which would take me to Bane…and whatever he had in mind for me.

* * *

I knew that Bane had set up his headquarters in City Hall, everyone knew that, but the knowledge didn't prepare me for the shock of seeing the mercenary's men teeming in every corner. This was a building that was intended for the preservation of law and order, and now it had been made into a home for men who held respect for neither of those things. It was a startling sight, it rattled me, and sickened me, and I was tempted to shut my eyes, to spare myself as much as possible, but I made myself look, so that I wouldn't forget any of it later, when all of this was over and done.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked the man who'd held my arm and hadn't let go since we'd left the _courtroom_. "What is going to be done to me?"

I'd wanted to ask the question as soon as we were out of Crane's sight, but I hadn't been able to work up the nerve. I wouldn't say that I'd actually managed to gather any courage, I was still shaking and my knees were weak, but I was the type of person who had to know what laid ahead of me, both the good and the bad, and I needed to know what awaited me, no matter how awful the truth might prove to be…if I could convince this man to tell me the truth, that is.

"He wants to speak with you, so I am taking you to his quarters," he said softly, using his hold on my arm to guide me through the corridors of City Hall, past groups of men, and those who had less discipline than others leered at me, while the others barely spared me a glance. "He doesn't mean to kill you, he won't hurt you, either, so there is no reason for you to be afraid."

Well, that was easy for him to say, wasn't it? He wasn't me, and he wasn't being led to a meeting with a man who'd terrorized his town, was he? I might have pointed that out to him, but my mouth had gone dry, and my knees were practically rattling when we reached our destination. I would have expected Bane to claim the mayor's office for himself, but he had taken a smaller, more modest office and had stripped it even further, so that it was almost spartan in appearance. There were maps on the walls, in the corner, there was a desk that was neatly piled with both papers and weapons, and in the middle of the room there was a large cot, big enough to hold two people…or one man who was built like Bane.

"Thank you for safely escorting Mrs. Sawyer," a voice said from behind the screen that rested opposite of the desk. "That will be all for now. Please see that we are not disturbed."

The man instantly released my arm and nodded, even though there was no one standing nearby to see the gesture. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, closing the door quietly, without sparing me a glance…I know, because I watched to see if he would. For several moments after the door closed there wasn't a sound to be heard, save for my quick, panicked breathing, and then Bane stepped out from behind the screen, and I heard the faint hiss of his breath join with mine.

God, he was huge, and the mask on his face was downright terrifying. He had taken off his coat, and the vest that he wore, and I couldn't help but notice the way that his black shirt clung to, and accentuated, his heavily muscled chest and arms. Everything about him was imposing, and I felt uneasy, because I couldn't see all of his face. All that was available for my perusal were his eyes, and I expected them to be the sort that you would see in a maniacal person, devoid of any emotion, save for what was blankly evil, but his eyes were different, they were filled with intelligence and what might have been curiosity…along with something that was unfamiliar to me, an emotion that made me shiver in response.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Sawyer," he said quietly, almost, as crazy as it sounded, _amiably_. "Or may I call you Leila instead?"


	2. Part One, Second Half

~Part One, Second Half~

Bane's POV

She was a fighter, there was an intrepid spirit in her that appealed to me, but beneath all of that bravado, there was fear, terror that she could not hide, at least, not from me, no matter how bold her words and her actions might be. I could see how frightened she was each and every time that her eyes met mine, and I wondered how long she would be able to play the part that she had chosen for herself, before the pressure proved to be too much and she had no choice but to break.

Of course, I could not speak of her brashness without mentioning my own, could I? I do not know what possessed me to step forward and claim her, other than the fact that she intrigued me, and she was just what I had been looking for since my trust had been betrayed. I had found her by scanning her file, as I had so many others, and it was not what was laid out in black and white that intrigued me, it was what I read between the lines which drew me to Leila Sawyer. I had pondered taking her for a couple of days, but then I had talked myself out of the ludicrous notion…or, so I had thought, until I had filled my eyes and my ears with her, and then I had wanted her all over again.

She was standing close to the door, as if she might flee at any moment, even though she had to have known that there was no way that she would be able to do so. She would meet my gaze for a moment, and I saw her shiver more than once when she did, which made sense, given that it was rather chilly in my room, but if she was cold, why did she tremble when she looked at me, and at my bed, but not when she concentrated her attention on my books, or on the maps that covered the walls?

"You have not answered me," I reminded her, after several moments passed by in silence. "Shall I address you as Mrs. Sawyer, or may I call you Leila? I will keep things formal, if you would rather that I do so, but I think that it would be more appropriate, not to mention preferable, if I call you Leila instead, given how _intimately_ I intend to know you."

The suggestive inflection on that one word had been deliberate, and it worked just as I had intended it to, because her eyes, which had been flitting around the room, centered, and stayed, solely on me. The fear that I had already seen was still there, haunting her eyes, but there was also a decent amount of determination, and now there was surprise as well, some that stood on its own, and a small portion that lent itself to strengthening her dread.

"Just how _intimately_ were you planning to _know_ me?" she asked quietly, meeting my gaze without a flinch, which I had to admit was an admirable feat, even if it did take her a moment or two to move her line of sight from my chest to my face. "I don't know about you, but _I_ don't consider rape to be an act of intimacy, so I would prefer you to address me as Mrs. Sawyer, if it's all the same to you."

I believed that I was successful at covering my reaction to her words, which was not easy, given that she was looking into my eyes. Her opinion of me was difficult to hear, to say the very least, and I wondered what I had ever done that was known in the public record which would make her think of me as one who defiled women. Was that simply a common assumption that one would make, to presume that a man who was considered a criminal was also a rapist? Did my actions now encompass each and every iniquity known to man in the eyes of those who stood in defiance to my mission? Was I truly nothing more than a monster, as far as they were concerned?

I do not know why I cared what her, or any of the others, opinion of me might have been. They were merely pawns, moving around the chessboard, foolishly believing that they were in charge of their destiny, when the truth of the matter was that each and every move that they made was done so at the end of a string. I was one of the puppet masters, I was using the citizens of Gotham to fulfill the destiny laid forth by Ra's al Ghul, to pave the way for Talia, who had taken up her father's mantle…yet, if that were so, then why was I feeling so conflicted?

_Because she betrayed you_, _she deceived you; she repaid your loyalty with duplicity and faithlessness_…..

No, _no_, I would not be distracted, not now. Mrs. Sawyer was already looking at me in a way that suggested that she might possibly think that my mind was not where it ought to be, and I could not encourage her in that way of thinking. I could not deny that the whispers within my head told the truth, that was the reason that I had sought Leila's company in the first place, but I could not acknowledge the facts of my life out loud, lest I lose the tenuous grasp that I held on my self-control, and choke the life from Talia with my bare hands.

"I have no desire whatsoever to _rape_ you, Mrs. Sawyer," I said softly, clenching my hands tightly into fists at my sides, until I felt the fury within me subside enough where I could trust myself to speak to her in a way that would not terrify her. "I do not know what sort of tales you have been told of my behavior, but I am not the sort of man who derives pleasure in forcing my amorous intentions upon women who do not want me. And regardless of what your opinion of me might be, I can assure you that I do know the difference between an encounter which is consensual and intimate in nature, and one which is degrading and painful and forced…and I have no interest whatsoever in sharing the latter of those experiences with you, though I would be quite…pleased…if you were to acquiesce to the former, Mrs. Sawyer, once you and I have formed a rapport with one another, if you would be so inclined, that is."

I was unaccustomed to giving a voice to so many of my thoughts, and I began to wonder, and to worry, about whether or not I was rambling. I did not mean to be garrulous, I usually despised that trait in my fellow human being, but for the life of me, I simply could not help myself around this woman. I felt like I ought to explain myself to her, which was an experience that was completely foreign to me as well, because why should I ever justify my actions to _anyone_, especially a condemned woman who seemed incapable of holding her tongue?

"I have heard plenty of stories about women being dragged from their homes and raped by the men that you _liberated _from Blackgate," she said quietly, turning her attention to the ground for a brief moment, before she returned her gaze to me. "But there were none that named you, personally, as one of those who looted and marauded their way through this city. It would be easier, I suppose, if you were a mindless animal, like those who took my husband's home, but you aren't that sort of man at all…you're someone who's much worse, aren't you?"

I was strangely offended by her declaration that I was worse than the criminal horde that had been loosed to wreak havoc upon Gotham City. I was willing to wager that there was not one amongst them who held a scintilla of honor or purpose, and I would squash them if I could, one collective stomp that would destroy them completely, but they served a purpose in the mission that I had undertaken, hence the necessity of allowing them to survive…for now.

"I read your file and it said that you gave those who came to collect you quite a fight," I said, switching the conversation as quickly as I could without being obvious that I was doing so. "But the report said that you were taken from _your_ home, so why do you say that you were seized from your 'husband's home'?"

"Of course I fought them," she said, disregarding my question, in favor of explaining her actions to me. "Was I supposed to scream and cry and beg instead? I'm sorry, but I will be damned before I will plead for my life. The request would fall upon deaf ears, and my last thought before I die will be the realization that I allowed them to take everything away from me. I can accept that I lost my husband's home and all of our possessions, I can tolerate being held prisoner and witnessing the world going to hell, but I can_not_ take my last breath knowing that they stole my self-worth away from me."

Her bottom lip trembled as she finished speaking, a movement that was barely perceptible, but I saw it, and she felt it, and that had to have been why she flinched. The account in her file said that she'd injured three of the men who had taken her from her home, using her hands, her feet, and, with one unfortunate gentleman, a knee to the groin, to disable them. I admired her fighter's instinct, it was satisfying to know that she would not be easily cowed and ruled, but I wanted to know about what had happened outside of the report. I needed to hear about how badly they had hurt her in retaliation, no matter how unpleasant the details might prove to be…I needed her to trust me enough to share with me, in each and every way that a woman could give of herself to a man.

"You must be tired of standing," I said quietly, taking my chair away from my desk and moving toward her, very slowly, so as not to frighten her any more than what was unavoidable. "Please, Mrs. Sawyer, sit and rest while we chat. I will call Barsad and have him bring us a meal, and, then you may have a shower, if you like."

She looked at me, and then at the chair that I was offering her, then back at me, with one eyebrow slightly raised. "Are you suggesting that I stink?" she asked, completely deadpan, that is, unless one looked into her eyes, which was something that I was quickly coming to enjoy. "Or were you simply planning on ravishing me in the shower?"

Why did I feel that question as if it was a physical being? Why could I sense it as a hand, one that was small and feminine and warm, tracing along the back of my neck, then down my spine, gently caressing my scarred flesh, before it journeyed around my waist, then down lower, so that a single fingertip could stroke the dimensions of my…..

I took a deep breath and forced the images that had taken hold of my mind aside, the ones that had her standing beneath a steady stream of steaming water and running soap covered hands, those small and feminine and warm hands which had raised goosebumps on my body where I would have sworn she had touched me, all over her flesh. The deep breath did not help to chase my lascivious thoughts away, and there was a part of my anatomy that was making itself more and more prominent with each and every moment that passed by. I was not used to this sort of thing, and I wondered how I ought to proceed.

I could attempt to lie, but the state of my body, and, undoubtedly, the look in my eyes, would give me away. That being said, how on earth could I possibly tell her the truth…the motive that I knew had been lurking in my mind, even if I had not acknowledged it until that moment? I _did_ want to ravish her in the shower, I wanted to lift her in my arms and have her against the tiled wall, and hear her whimpers as they grew louder and more frequent, until she screamed my name, but I could not tell her that…could I?

"If I didn't know better, I would swear that I just made you blush," she said, moving toward me, to take a seat in the chair. It seemed that my flush of self-consciousness had made me trustworthy in her eyes, at least, it was sufficient for her to feel comfortable sitting in my presence. "So, what would you like to talk about now?"

I stared down at her for a moment, fighting to control my hand, which wanted to reach out and touch her cheek for some reason, and then I moved around her, to sit on my cot, wincing a bit when my trousers drew tight against my body in areas that certainly didn't need any further stimulation. She had found something to tease me about, and that seemed to bolster her spirits, as well as reanimating her bravery, and I took a moment to admire the sparkle that had come into her eyes, even though it was there at my expense.

"Barsad!" I called, needing only to raise my voice a bit, because I knew that my brother was waiting right outside the door, which was where he would stay until I bid him to go. He entered the room almost immediately, and his eyes sought mine, whereas those of a less experienced man would have undoubtedly landed upon Leila. I trusted Barsad with my life, I knew, without a doubt, that he would die for me, if needs be, and that was why I trusted him, and him alone, to care for Leila when I asked him to.

"Mrs. Sawyer would like to eat now," I told him, not bothering to ascertain Leila's opinion on the matter before I gave the dinner order, because I had a good idea that she would insist on being stubborn by the means of refusing to eat, if I were to ask her first. "Please see if there is a chicken which might be roasted, with a side of potatoes and mushrooms, if any can be found."

I waited for her to say something sarcastic, or to undermine me in some way, but thankfully she did not say a word, and Barsad rushed to do my bidding, unchallenged, which was an enormous weight off of my mind. It would not do at all, for her to have any reason to feel free to defy me, and I would have to remind her who I was, if she were to try, but that was a prospect that I dreaded, and I hoped that she would not try anything that would necessitate me doing so.

"Why is it that you did not consider the home that you shared with your husband to be one which belonged to both of you?" I asked, after the door had closed behind Barsad. I just could not help but be curious about her life with the man that she had married, the one who had been forty years her senior. What could they possibly have had in common? I could not believe that she had married him for his money, she just did not seem like the type who would resort to such vulgar behavior, but if it was not his monetary assets which drew her, then what else had he possessed which would make a young and beautiful woman agree to be his wife?

"I like roasted chicken," she said softly, glancing away from me, or, more specifically from the look that came into my eyes when she decided to be obstinate and change the subject, as opposed to choosing the easier route of simply answering me instead. "I make delicious roast chicken, that is, I _made_ delicious roast chicken, and I love potatoes too, and mushrooms as well…how did you know what I would like?"

I had not known, I had simply made a choice from what I knew was in the larder, though it did occur to me that I could pretend to look into her mind and see her innermost thoughts and secrets and desires, but if that were the case, then I would already know about her husband, would I not? She was still trying to avoid opening up to me, except to reveal the foods that she liked…though, once I thought about it, I realized that she would not share that information with me, if she was trying to avoid sharing an sort of rapport with me, would she?

"I did not know for certain, I simply hoped that you would like what I chose for you," I told her, answering honestly, which seemed to be the wisest path that I could take where she was concerned. "It…pleases…me to know that I selected foods that you like. I want you to be comfortable here, Mrs. Sawyer. I do not want you to feel ill-at-ease, or self-conscious, nor afraid….."

"Will you join me for dinner…um…what should I call you?"

There was a voice inside of me that reminded me that she had interrupted me again, as if I had not noticed that myself. It told me that she must be corrected, that her unruly behavior must be nipped in the bud, at once, before it flourished and grew out of control, but I did not want to reprimand her. I was pleasantly surprised that she wanted me to join her for her meal, so much so that it bothered me to know that I would have to decline, and I was also taken aback by her request for how she ought to address me. I knew that she was aware of my name, but she asked none the less, and she could not have loathed me completely, if she was concerned about offending me…unless she was afraid that I might hurt her, if she was to anger me.

"I believe that Bane is the name that you know for me, is it not?" I asked, even though I knew what her answer would be. "It is very kind of you to invite me to join you for dinner, and I would like to accept, but I am afraid that the haste with which I must consume my sustenance would make you lose your appetite, and that would make me a very poor host, would it not?"

I could not explain to her that it was excruciating for me, to cease the flow of my constant source of pain relief for an extended amount of time, which necessitated that I literally wolf down my food at any and every meal. I could not say how I had come to possess such fussy mannerisms, given my upbringing, but it shamed me, to think of anyone witnessing my behavior in those moments, and to imagine Mrs. Sawyer doing so was unthinkable, to say the very least.

"I don't think that you would make me lose my appetite, Bane, but I understand," she said, returning her eyes to mine, which had not left her, not even when she refused to look at me. "I just hate to eat by myself, and I've done so much of that lately, so I thought….."

Her voice trailed away, and she blushed, but she did not look away from me. "I will stay with you while you dine, if you would like me to," I assured her, marveling at the fact that it was possible to long for company when one was partaking of their repast. I could not recall a single instance where I had ever shared a meal with someone, though, now that I thought about it, I realized that it was something that had the potential to be very pleasant and enjoyable, if one could do so. "And you could take your shower while I have my dinner, if you would like to."

She smiled at me, not a bright, shining beam, but a smile none the less. "I'm beginning to think that I must smell just awful," she said teasingly, and it surprised me, all over again, to find that I enjoyed her playfulness, because it meant that she was slowly lowering her guard around me, at least, that was what I chose to believe that it meant. "That's the second time that you've suggested that I take a shower, so I must stink to high heaven…would you prefer that I move my chair away from you, so that you won't have to smell me, hmm?"

I suppose that it did not truly matter that I did not return her smile, because she could not see it even if I had, but I wanted to do so. There was something in the curving of her lips that encouraged me to smile as well; it invoked emotions in me which encouraged me to rise to my feet, and to cross the small distance that lay between us, so that I could stand beside her. I moved slowly, so as not to frighten her, and bent from the waist, hesitating, for just a moment, before I touched the back of her head, taking care to keep the contact one that was gentle, and, I hoped, reassuring.

I heard her take a deep breath, and hold it, but she did not move away from me. I took that to be a sign that she would tolerate my touch, and I moved my head, hovering over her as I savored the softness of her hair. I stayed as I was for a moment, allowing her time to adjust to my presence, and then I pretended to draw in her scent. The truth of the matter was that I couldn't smell anything outside of the metallic odor of my medication, but there was no need for me to tell her that, at least, none that I could think of.

"Oh, I do not know, Mrs. Sawyer," I murmured, twining my fingers in the silken length of her hair, fixing the feel of it in my memory. "If you would like to know the truth, I find that I enjoy your scent, and I would hate to be deprived of an opportunity to savor it."


	3. Part Two, First Half

~Part Two, First Half~

Leila's POV

Dinner was, surprisingly, quite delicious, and Bane provided pleasant company, which was even more shocking to me. I'd halfway expected him to grill me about my past, about the circumstances in my life that had led me to this place, and I'd promised myself that I wouldn't tell him anything, no matter what, but he hadn't asked a single question about my former life. We'd discussed my love for cooking instead, and he'd convinced me to critique the meal that had been provided for me, to point out what I would have done differently, if I had the opportunity to do so.

The truth was that there wasn't much that I could find fault with, the chicken was juicy and succulent, the potatoes were perfectly seasoned and roasted to a golden brown, and the mushrooms had been sautéed in butter and garlic…long story short, I was well pleased, and well-fed, and the time passed quickly and pleasurably, so much so that I was sad to see it end, and had wondered, for just a moment, if I was on the verge of losing my mind completely.

I thought of the look that had come into his eyes when I asked if he was hungry, I remembered the way that the green hue had darkened, livened by an emotion that scared me, even as it thrilled me, which had shamed me. That was the image that took over my mind as Barsad led me to the rooms that had been converted for Bane's men, one which had been made into a restroom, while the other one had been turned into a shower room. All that I had seen in Bane's eyes wreaked havoc on my emotions, and the words that he'd spoken, and the way that he'd said them, made my body shiver in remembrance.

"I am famished, Mrs. Sawyer," he'd told me, and there'd been no doubt in my mind that he hadn't been referring to his appetite for the meal that awaited him beneath the other silver cloche that had been carried into his room. I knew that he'd meant that he was hungry for me, and I worried that he might have thought that I was flirting with him, and then I felt guilty, and more than a little ashamed, because I realized that there was no denying the fact that I had been doing just that.

"Are you feeling alright, Mrs. Sawyer?" Barsad asked, in a tone that sounded genuinely concerned to me. "You look a little flushed, and kind of shaky on your feet, ma'am, and I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself."

Yes, there was no denying it; I was definitely losing my mind. One terrorist was undeniably growing more and more attractive to me with each and every moment that passed by, while another was inexplicably kind and seemingly worried about me. I needed to get a firm grip on myself, I needed to remember that nothing was ever what it seemed to be, especially not now, after everything had changed so drastically for those of us who filled, or, rather, who'd _filled_ the ranks of Gotham City's social, cultural and financial elite.

"I'm fine," I said shortly, _that is, I'm fine for a woman who is losing her mind_. "This has just been a very…trying…day for me, if you will excuse the pun, and what I need is a chance to collect myself. I spent all last night preparing myself to die, and now it seems that I'm meant to live, but I can't help but wonder if I'm going to wish that I'd suffered the same fate as the others once everything is said and done."

I don't know why I felt the need to talk so much, and I must have caught him off-guard, because he was quiet for a moment, and then, when he did answer, he did so in a whisper. "Bane will not allow anyone to harm you, Mrs. Sawyer. There is nothing for you to fear, and you will feel much better, once you've had your shower and a little rest….."

I laughed a little, a prickly sort of chuckle that escaped me before I considered whether or not it was wise for me to do so. It was bad enough, it was enough of an affront, to interrupt someone when they were speaking, but I knew that it was much worse to do so by laughing at them in a sarcastic manner. Barsad didn't seem like the type who had a hair-trigger, violent temper, but, then, I hadn't done anything to make him mad at me either, so I couldn't be sure how he would react, if I'd managed to insult him.

"How refreshing, to know that he does not mean to _hurt_ me," I said softly, in a tone that was scathing in nature, even though I knew that it would be best, for me, if I kept my mouth shut. "You assure me that you will not harm me, that _he_ will not hurt me, but how can you promise me that I will feel better, with a little warm water, soap and sleep, when he has already told me that he means to know me _intimately_?"

Dear, God…what in the hell was wrong with me? It felt like someone had unlocked all of my inhibitions, and suddenly I was overwhelmed by the need to chatter like an agitated magpie to Barsad. Why did I feel like treating him like he was my best girlfriend? He was the underling of a terrorist, for God's sake. He didn't give a damn about what happened to me. He wouldn't hesitate to follow Bane's orders, no matter how heinous they might be, yet, for some reason, I felt like opening my mouth and spilling my heart's secrets, like I could trust him…like he was different from the rest of them.

"I'm not privy to Bane's personal plans for you, Mrs. Sawyer, but I do know that he was very specific in his order that no one would harm you in any way, and if they did, the price that they would pay for that infraction would be severe. And I'm sure that it doesn't seem possible to you right now, but a hot shower and a night of sleep will go a long way toward making you feel much better…at least, that's always been the case for me."

It was difficult to imagine a man like Barsad ever needing to unwind, and turn loose of all of his pent-up aggressions and emotions, because he seemed to be perfectly calm and at ease, but what did I know about it? I didn't go with him into his room every night, I didn't bear witness to the side of him that emerged when there was no one else around, so I couldn't say what he was like when he was free to show his true self…just like I couldn't say with any certainty what Bane would be like, once the lights were out and he and I were alone in the dark.

"This is insane," I whispered, as we made our way through the large restroom, uncaring if Barsad heard me or not. He went to each stall and opened the door, to see whether or not there was anyone hiding inside, and after he had determined that they were all clear, we moved into the shower room, and he checked each of those as well, leaving nothing uninvestigated, until he could say, with absolute certainty, that it was safe for me to undress myself and get into one of the shower stalls.

"You're not going to watch me, are you?" I asked quietly, fear stealing the power of my voice away from me, until I couldn't speak any higher than a whisper.

His eyes met mine, and, once more, I was taken aback by their beautiful hue, and all of the emotions that I could see in their depths. "Of course not," he said, turning his back, to afford me some privacy. "Just don't try anything that's going to get you into trouble, Mrs. Sawyer, otherwise you will force me to remove the clothing from your body myself, and I guarantee you that I'm going to take an eyeful of you if that happens, whether you want me to or not."

The only thing that I could do that would end up getting me into trouble would be to try and make a run for it, and I wasn't dense enough to do that, given that he was standing so close to the door. He wouldn't even have to chase me in that situation, all that he would have to do would be to reach out and grab me as I ran past, and it certainly wasn't worth the trouble, nor the consequences that I knew he would make me pay, to try something so stupid.

In the end I decided to dispense with my clothing as quickly as possible, and then I ducked into the nearest shower stall and turned on the water full blast, not quite biting back the piercing shriek that rose in my throat when an icy stream doused me from head to foot. An intelligent person would have stood outside the shower and turned on the water from a safe position. They would have reached inside with one hand, as opposed to their entire body to check the temperature of the water, and then, when it was just right, _then_ they would have stepped inside. Hmm…I'd always thought that I was a reasonably clever person. Could it be that I'd been lying to myself for all of these years? Was I actually very dimwitted, in addition to my sudden bout of craziness, or was I simply suffering from an overload of….?

"Are you alright, Mrs. Sawyer?" Barsad asked worriedly from his side of the curtain, which startled me, because it was obvious that he was standing right outside of the barrier, the one that was completely sheer and offered me little, if any, privacy. I would have liked to have come off as someone who never shrieked like a frightened little girl, but I figured that any attempt in that direction would simply be a futile waste of my time, given that I had just screeched for the second time in less than five minutes, and didn't bother to apologize for alarming him.

"I'm fine, thank you, Barsad," I managed to choke out, nearly crying with relief when the water turned blessedly warm, and then, blissfully hot. It had been a good long while since I'd had a full shower, and it had been even longer since I'd felt warm water, let alone that which could be called hot in temperature, and I wondered how I could have ever been so spoiled, as to take something like that for granted. "The water was a little chilly to begin with, and it took me by surprise, but it's just where I want it to be now and….."

"An icy shower has a way of bringing the senses to life, does it not, Mrs. Sawyer? Though, I must say, you are the first person, at least, the first of _my_ acquaintance, who has reacted to the experience with an ear-piercing shriek. I am fairly certain that you did not intend to bring me running when you screamed, I am also willing to wager that you have no desire whatsoever for my company, but now that I am here, do you have any objection to me taking Barsad's place, so that he might partake of the meal that both you and I so thoroughly enjoyed?"

Oh, that was just great. Now there were two shadows on the other side of the curtain, though, to their credit, I could see that they were both facing away from me. I leaned back into the hot spray of water raining down upon me, and took my time wetting my hair, and, once it was thoroughly saturated, I moved forward, closer to the curtain, to ensure that they'd both be able to hear me loud and clear.

"I don't mind," I told him, then bit back a curse, because the words that had just came out of my mouth bore no resemblance at all to those that I'd planned to say. I'd wanted to tell him that I didn't want either one of them around, and that I especially didn't want him anywhere near me, but it seemed that my subconscious mind wasn't onboard with the game plan. Maybe it was that craziness that had me so worried, but it seemed like there was a part of me that wanted him to be close to me, whether I liked the idea or not, and I realized that I was in deep trouble if it was my heart that was leading the insurrection. A mind could be reasoned with and shown the wisest path to take, but a heart was a different thing altogether…..

"Your answer pleases me, Mrs. Sawyer," he murmured, and, for just a moment, everything was quiet and still, and then he turned his attention to Barsad, and I was forgotten. It was ridiculous of me to think of things the way that I was, but, for some odd reason, that was the first thought that came into my head. I should have been grateful for any and every time that he was concentrated on something or someone besides me, but that just wasn't the case…it wasn't the truth at all.

* * *

"Why is it not _your_ home, Mrs. Sawyer, or even _our_ home? Why do you think of it as _his_ home, when you, as his wife, had every right to claim it as your own?"

I sighed, and then filled my palm with shampoo. "You're not going to let that go, are you?" I asked, rubbing the soap into my hair, and luxuriating in yet another experience that I'd taken for granted before I'd had it taken away from me. "You're just going to keep on asking me until you wear me down, aren't you?"

"Hmm…that is a lovely scent," I heard him say, and then I turned and watched the shower curtain flutter as he moved to stand closer to me, not so much that he was crowding me…just _nearer_. "I do not like to think that I am _wearing you down_, Mrs. Sawyer, but, rather, that I am becoming acquainted with you, so that you might feel as though you can trust me. I am curious about you, and I would like to know more of your story, and I cannot do that if I do not ask you questions, is that not correct?"

I wanted to tell him that my life with Andrew was personal, I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but, once more, my words got lost somewhere along the way on their journey from my brain to my mouth.

"I'll answer your questions, but in order for me to do so, I'm going to have to have the assurance that this will be a tit-for-tat conversation, not just tit, tit, tit on my part, alright?"

Oh, God. I could have phrased that a little better than I had, couldn't I? My cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and I ducked my head beneath the spray of water, to rinse the shampoo from my hair, but also to muffle the sound of him chuckling at me. It wasn't a loud sound, and it wasn't mean in nature, even though it easily could have been, and I found myself moving my head out of the water, to enjoy its timbre and cadence, even though it irritated me to do so.

"Your terms are acceptable to me, Mrs. Sawyer," he said, in a voice that was made wonderfully warm and rich with the lingering remnants of his humor. "Now then, if you do not mind, it seems to me that you ought to begin this exchange of _tit-for-tat_, and I would like to know why you feel as if your home did not belong to you, if you please."

What did my pride matter anymore? Why should I keep my secrets? "Andrew's home was one that he'd built for his wife, Veronica, ergo it was _their_ house, not mine," I said, praying that he'd let the matter drop before I completely humiliated myself, even though I knew he wouldn't.

"But she was dead," he said, moving to stand sideways beside the shower curtain, causing me to feel a zing of…something…down low, in a place that made me blush. "_You_ were his wife when he passed away, _ergo_ it was, by all rights, _your_ home, not the former Mrs. Sawyer's, so why do you feel as though you were a stranger there, an interloper, when you ought to have….."

"Uh-uh," I said, sticking my hand out of the curtain, to grab hold of his forearm. "Tit-for-tat, remember, which means that it's _my_ turn now."

Dear, God. How could something as simple as a man's forearm feel so powerful? I could only imagine what the rest of his body would feel like, and then it dawned on me that I _would_ know what he would feel like, from head to toe, and I felt that strange, and shameful, stirring way down low all over again. I watched his shadow straighten, almost as if my touch made him uncomfortable, but then he seemed to relax, and turned his head, to stare at my hand. I waited for him to touch me, there was even part of me that hoped that he would do so, but he seemed content to keep his hands to himself, that is, he did for the time being.

"You are correct, of course, Mrs. Sawyer," he said, his tone low and soothing as he raised his head and turned to offer me his back once more, causing my hand to slip back inside the curtain. "What would you like to know about me?"

Now _that_ was a hell of a question, wasn't it? There were numerous things that I could ask him, so much that I _wanted_ to ask him, and it was difficult to find a place to begin, but I decided that it was in my best interest to start small.

"Where is _your_ home, Bane? Where do you feel that you belong…is there any place that feels like it calls to you?"

Well, hell…that was kind of the opposite of simple, wasn't it? Starting small was asking when he was born, or what his favorite food was, it was not something that held the promise of being very personal, intimate, even, in nature, and I waited for him to react badly, possibly even violently, but, surprisingly enough, he kept his cool. Truth be told, he didn't even seem irritated with me, and I struggled to understand, and accept, what I expected him to be, and how he actually was.

"No, I have never known that sense of belonging, Mrs. Sawyer," he said, moving his arms, which had been crossed on his chest, down to his sides. "I was born without a home and I will die without a home, but it is not something that causes me pain or sorrow, because how can you mourn something that you have never possessed?"

He did a good job of pretending that it didn't bother him that he was essentially homeless, both physically and emotionally, but he couldn't keep all of the pain and sorrow that he swore he didn't feel out of his voice. I knew what he was going through, I'd been in his shoes since my father had passed, and I had a feeling that I would die that way as well.

"My father worked for Andrew, but he was his friend as well," I offered, not needing a prompt to share with him, nor to rinse my hand free of soap, so that I could lay it, once more, on his forearm. "When he died, I went to live with Andrew and Veronica until I was eighteen. I can remember, just as clear as day, how devastated he was when she died of cancer, I fully expected him to die right along with her, but he kept going, and, after a year passed by, he asked me to marry him."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, remembering that day, and how shocked I'd been that Andrew would even consider such a thing, let alone voice it aloud. "He knew that I wanted a husband, and children, and he also knew that I'd been…unlucky…where men were concerned. He promised that he would take care of me, and that he would make me happy in every way…but it never occurred to me, or even to him, for that matter, that his heart still belonged to Veronica…that it would always be hers, and it would never be mine."

It was like someone had flipped a switch inside of me, one that turned off all of my inhibitions, and made me want to tell him everything, but how was I supposed to make him understand the difficulties that had plagued me in my life as Andrew's wife? I wasn't a vain woman, not in the least, but I knew that I was reasonably attractive. I suppose that I was a bit, hmm, _fuller_, than what was fashionable, but I wasn't fat, not by a long shot, I wasn't even plump, so how could I hope to make Bane understand why my husband hadn't made love to me, but for a handful of times, during our marriage?

I started to speak, a sarcastic remark to remind him that he'd gotten plenty of tit without any tat, but my words froze when he moved his arm, so that my hand moved down to his, and then, once he felt my palm, he turned over his hand, so that he could place it against mine. He didn't grasp me, or twine his fingers with mine, he simply touched me, for several moments, while the cooling water continued to flow down on me, washing away all of the remnants of soap, but then everything changed in an instant.

His touch had been gentle, and though it didn't become rough, it _did_ become fierce, and before I could protest, he'd opened the curtain, and reached behind me, to turn off the water. I crossed my arms over my chest as soon as he exposed me, but that left a very intimate part of me uncovered, and I struggled to shield myself as best as I could, while my cheeks flamed and I backed myself against the tiled wall of the shower.

"I am not going to hurt you, Mrs. Sawyer, but there are others who do not feel the way that I do, and I can hear them coming right now," he told me, wrapping a huge towel around me, and drawing me forward, into his arms. He lifted me off of my feet, as if I weighed nothing at all, and carried me across the room, hurriedly pulling back the curtain of another stall and placing me inside. I could hear voices in the distance, male voices, laughing and voicing their plans aloud, and I knew that they were going to do worse than simply hurt me, well, that is, they would, unless Bane protected me.

"I think that the time has come that you start calling me Leila," I told him, hurriedly grabbing the towel that he'd wrapped me in, to ensure that it wouldn't fall to the ground and leave me uncovered. "I'm going to believe that I can trust you enough to be on a first name basis with you. I suppose that I might be a fool for doing so, but….."

He pressed his fingertip against my lips, shushing me. "I have already said that you can trust me once, so I will not say it again," he told me, gently caressing my lips. "Now, stay quiet and out of sight, until I tell you differently, Leila, and I promise that no harm will come your way."


	4. A Note From Mary Sue

Dear Readers,

Most of you are probably aware that I am a firm believer in self-promotion, and while I usually use these little author notes to endorse my Tom Hardy stories, this message is intended to draw attention to my newest attempt at fan fiction, which has nothing whatsoever to do with my fantasy husband. I don't know how many of you enjoy _The Walking Dead_, but if you are a fan, and you would like to give my contribution a chance, it is titled _Safety Is Just a State of Mind_. It is rated **M**, like everything else that I write, and I have categorized it as a romance/horror, with a Rick/OC pairing, and a Daryl/OC union as well.

Thanks,

~Miss Mary


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